GETTIN’ ON.

WHEN I wuz somewhat younger,

I wuz reckoned purty gay;

I had my fling at everything

In a rollickin’, coltish way.

But times have strangely altered

Since sixty years ago —

This age of steam an’ things do n't seem

Like the age I used to know.

Your modern innovations

Do n't suit me, I confess,

As did the ways of the good ol’ days,—

But I'm gettin’ on, I guess.

I set on the piazza,

An’ hitch round with the sun;

Sometimes, mayhap, I take a nap,

Waitin’ till school is done.

An’ then I tell the children

The things I done in youth,—

An’ near as I can, as a vener'ble man,

I stick to the honest truth,—

But the looks of them‘ at listen

Seem sometimes to express

The remote idee that I'm gone — you see?—

An’ I am gettin’ on, I guess.

I get up in the mornin’,

An’, nothin’ else to do,

Before the rest are up an’ dressed,

I read the papers through.

I hang round with the women

All day an’ hear‘ em talk;

An’ while they sew or knit I show

The baby how to walk.

An’, somehow, I feel sorry

When they put away his dress

An’ cut his curls (‘ cause they're like a girl's! ) —

I'm gettin’ on, I guess.

Sometimes, with twilight round me,

I see, or seem to see,

A distant shore where friends of yore

Linger an’ watch for me.

Sometimes I've heered‘ em callin’

So tender-like‘ nd low

That it almost seemed like a dream I dreamed,

Or an echo of long ago;

An’ sometimes on my forehead

There falls a soft caress,

Or the touch of a hand,— you understand,—

I'm gettin’ on, I guess.